Reflections
by claire sorrentino
Summary: Broken knife, empty gun. It's no solace that the zombies are unarmed - quite literally in some cases. Claire reflects on all the men in her life after naively falling into Wesker's trap. Could this be the end? Rated T for Wesker's nefarious plan & zombie description. Short-chapters, but updates will be daily until finished. Please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

Act I: Brat

_ "My father was the first to leave. It was on my seventh birthday. We went to some uber fancy Italian Restaurant. I'd wanted to have a pizza party at Pizza Hut. I'd thrown a fit for most of the day, and by the time we reached the restaurant, the tear tracks on my face were just barely dry. In the morning he was gone. Mother said it was because of my temper tantrums and that if I would only behave he might come back. I behaved for five years. He never came back, and I never learned why he really left."_

I had an empty gun and a broken knife. My opponents were unarmed; some literally were missing an arm or two, but the rest were just without conventional weapons. Of course, the American Zombie has mastered the art of killing without weapons. Zombies, in case you didn't know, use cold, blood-stained hands to hold your screaming, thrashing body still while they use their broken teeth to tear through the soft tissue of your body.

There were more of them than me. And more of them then I had time to count. I didn't rush because panic makes me do stupid things. I was, as fast as humanly possible, unscrewing the screws holding a grate in place. Where the grate led – or even if it was big enough for one slightly clean, red-haired college drop-out – well, I didn't have time to worry about that either.

I was standing on a gurney with old, crusty brown bloodstains marring the yellowing sheets. The final screw popped loose. I stuck my fingers into the grate and yanked it out. I flung it back without looking. It made a dull thunk as it crashed into a moving corpse and then fell to the ground. The vent looked narrow and dark.

I hoisted myself into the darkness, fingers scrambling for any purchase possible. I felt the briefest touch of dead fingers on my bare calf. Then I was out of reach for the moment. The moans of the zombies behind me reverberated into the too small space. I wiggled my way in further, breath coming in short and panicked sobs.

When had I started crying?

The vent was dusty, and I started sneezing. My eyes burned, but even if I were inclined to rub them with my dirty hands, there really wasn't that kind of room. Whoever built these vents hadn't shopped with the Hollywood Duct Service. I could probably still back out of them without having to call for help. But that would be like backing onto a menu as a main course, so I went forward.

It's one of those lessons that life teaches you. It was my least favorite lesson, and yet it kept coming up. The lesson? When life screws you, keep going you might live to get screwed another day.


	2. Chapter 2

Act II: Tagalong

_"Chris left me all the time when I was a child. Seven years older than me, he had an innate drive to be the strongest, fastest, smartest teenager in his school. I was his slightly fat, snobby little sister. When dad left, I became afraid of being alone and started following him. At first he ditched me easily. But I figured that if Chris could be fast and strong, he would never be fast and strong enough to leave me if I were faster and stronger. And while I never did get stronger than him, I certainly got fast enough that he finally stopped ditching me. Or at least that's what I told myself. The truth is, Chris finally stopped ditching me because he didn't want me around. Nowadays, he chose to ditch me so I wouldn't get hurt._

My empty gun was digging into my stomach. I'd tucked it into the front of my jeans when I used the last cartridge. I'd been hoping to find more ammo in the future, but now I was wondering if I should have just ditched it. The duct had me stuck. Or did I have myself stuck?

I guess it didn't really matter because either way, I wasn't going anywhere. My shoulders were pinched on both sides. The air was thick and hot and putrid and clung to my skin like a third layer of skin. A heavy layer of dust clung to me like second skin.

I stopped wiggling and lowered my head. I hadn't stopped crying since entering the ducts. I was aware that I'd probably mourn for the lost liquid when, after being trapped for a day or two, dehydration set in. If I didn't die of hunger before then. And that was ironic. I hadn't wanted to be eaten, so I'd fled into the vents. And now I was probably going to die of starvation.

Maybe it would have been better if the zombies had just gotten a good hold and dragged me into their midst. At least they were so numerous that I would have died quickly. Probably.

As a personal rule, I try not and think about what would be the best way to die. Because there really isn't a best way to die, is there? I mean besides lying in bed when you're ninety something, with your loved one close and a lifetime of cherished memories blurring into the white light of beyond.

There was a thump, and lone, anguished moan somewhere behind me. I couldn't see behind me, but I knew what it was. Zombie. Of course it was a zombie. It'd worked its way into the vent and would be working its way to me now. And when it arrived, it would go for a double helping of legs. I could imagine teeth sinking into the bottoms of my feet (nevermind the fact that I'm wearing boots).

I extended my arms as far forward as they would go. I bunched my legs as close to my body as possible. My fingers struggled for a purchase, found a rivet, and attempted to use that to pull myself forward while I pushed forward with my feet.

My shoulder squeaked a centimeter away from the zombie, probably leaving patches of skin behind. I exhaled, tasting my death in the air. Repositioned myself, pulling, pushing again. The zombie, even if it didn't fit, would just keep yanking towards me until it either lost enough of its body to fit or it reached me. If I wanted to escape, I would just have to keep trying. The alternative was unacceptable.


	3. Chapter 3

Act III: Lover

_"I am not a virgin. I lost that particular title when I was sixteen. His name was Gerry. He was one of my brother's friends. He'd been drinking, and I let him pretend he was drunk. For him, it was the old one-thing-led-to-another. For me, it was love. In the morning, he got dressed and drove me home without a word. I never spoke to him again."_

The zombie was considerably bigger than me. That was the only reason I didn't die immediately. Instead I spent eternity – or at least a couple of hours – inching my way past the extra-narrow part. When I was done my fingers were bloody from scratching at the metal and rivets. My shoulders had slippery, hot blood coating them. And to tell the truth, the blood probably acted like a lubricant to get me unstuck.

My progress was still slower than New York City traffic during rush hour. But I **was** making progress again. The duct went in a straight line, with the occasional side chute vanishing as I passed it. All of the side chutes were hardly fit for a squirrel to squeak through. The main path led to another bolted on grate.

I growled, vexed. If I hadn't been set on simple survival, I might have considered the dead-end I was fleeing into sometime before I reached it. But then again, if I'd taken the time to consider it, I would probably be stuck still with a zombie eating me or lying on a filthy floor while a zombie hoard picked my flesh from my bones.

I decided to try and push at the grate to begin with. Once the zombie got passed the narrow-spot, it wouldn't take it long to cover the rest of the distance between us. The scent of fresh human blood drives zombies to incredible feats of strength and perseverance. My bloody fingertips reached outside the grate, and I gave a feeble first push.

Nothing happened. I heard the sound of something metal – maybe a tray of instruments – clattering to the floor outside. Was someone out there? I almost licked my lips, tilted my head to listen for the sounds of zombies.

Then the grate was being ripped out of the wall. My fingers were still stuck in between the metal. I was yanked clean from the vent, my entire left arm giving a scream of protest and my poor, abused fingers, hopefully, only hurting like they were broken.

The thing that ripped the grate out was hungry. It was a Bandersnatch. Once it had been human. Then Umbrella had played with its DNA until its entire body was the color and texture of an open, festering sore. It's most noticeable feature was its arms. Its right one was elongated and could stretch like Mr. Fantastic. Its left arm was a useless little stub. It had only one eye, sunken down where the mouth on a human would be.


	4. Chapter 4

Act IV: Vanish

_ "I dated a psychology student in college. His name was Lance. He was sweet. His mother had abandoned him as a child, and his foster parents were abusive. He wanted to help people. I'd played patient, but even with all my childhood issues, I'd never really thought I needed mental help. One week, just before finals, I couldn't get a hold of Chris. I think I thought he'd finally just vanished like my dad. So, without talking to Lance, I took my motorcycle to Raccoon City. I never saw Lance again. I hope he found someone better for him."_

When it ripped the grate out, it was in such a hurry that it just flung it over its shoulder. I went with the grate, and it stuck its head into the duct. I landed by the fallen medical instruments, grabbed a scalpel with my functioning right arm, and, as it turned to confront its moving dinner, I plunged the weapon into its eye, driving it home like a stake. At the same time, I forced my nonfunctioning left arm to rack the broken knife across the Bandersnatch's throat. Congealed blood gurgled out.

The Umbrella weapon collapsed, body twitching uncontrollably. I must have gotten lucky and severed some essential nerves. I left the scalpel in its eye and used the knife to carve the Bandersnatch up. In order to kill it, I needed fire. I didn't have fire, so I had to do enough damage to slow it down.

The zombie appeared at the grate, and tumbled out. Once it had been a huge man in a security guard uniform. He'd had a massive beer belly, which was currently ripped open like a shattered watermelon. Loops of spongy looking intestine stuck to the duct as he fell. He landed face first, the trauma, killing him instantly. Well, actually, he was already dead, but the head injury severed his spinal cord and the T-virus wasn't able to animate him anymore.

I liberated his gun from his armpit holster, checking it for ammo. It was a .357 caliber revolver. Five shots. I carefully closed the chamber and exited the room even as another zombie tumbled from the vent.

In the hall, I could see the room I'd fled into earlier. The zombies seemed to realize I'd gotten out, and were slowly shuffling out to look at me. I picked the other direction and broke into a steady jog. One thing that you don't want to do when fleeing from an unknown number of zombies in a building that holds an unknown number of zombies is to run too fast. The problem with speed is that you can accidentally run yourself into a truly screwed position that could have been avoided by using a bit of common sense when fleeing.

While I jogged, I kept my eyes peeled for danger. I didn't have a Danger Sense like Spiderman, but I did have enough adrenaline coursing through my veins to beat back the pain in my left arm. I paused to examine it for a second, deciding that it was, unfortunately, dislocated. Maybe some people (Jill) could just pop that back into place. Me, I'd need help. I co-opted a gurney in the hallway and created a makeshift sling from the dirty sheets.


	5. Chapter 5

Act V: Savior

_"Leon saved my life. There isn't much more to say. Our relationship never happened and never will happen. We came together in a crisis. Were separated. When I was alone, I thought about him a lot. Then we came together again. Saved each other and escaped on a secret underground train. Spent a few days recovering from Raccoon City. I think I fell in love with him then, but I could be wrong. Love moves slowly and when it catches you there isn't an announcement. Leon got caught by love too. Her name is Ada Wong. She is beautiful, deadly, and has a soft spot for him. They dance the devil's dance between love, lust, and life. And Leon loved (or loves) me as a sister or dear, dear friend."_

When I reach the stairs I have two choices: up or down. Zombies have difficulty climbing stairs and the really, really nasty Umbrella stuff is usually underground. I start up the stairs at a good clip. I know, without conscious thought, that if any zombies are upstairs, they'll be able to come at me with gravity on their side.

The stairs are the kind that Hollywood copied from reality. There are twenty-eight stairs and then a landing followed by twenty-eight more stairs followed by a landing with a door and a floor number. I started on the seventh floor. By the thirtieth, I have two empty guns and no knife.

Below me are constant moans and the shuffles of the hungry. Ahead of me is danger. I keep going. What else is there to do?

I came here voluntarily. To this Umbrella facility. Why? Because I got a phone call that told me one of the men in my life was the prisoner of Albert Wesker. I got in just deep enough that I couldn't get out, and then the power cut, the zombies came, the emergency lights came out, and the trap was sprung.

I'm not a special prize. Unlike the others, I don't have the military/law-enforcement background. I'm not useless, but clearly, I'm naïve. At the least I should have waited for backup. Or told someone where I was going.

The stairs end. I'm a bit breathless from the long trek upwards. I breathe in and out slowly, allowing myself to catch my breath. When I can't stand still any longer, I go forward. The thirty-third floor is a laboratory. Behind walls of glass, motionless slabs of meat rot. Some of the slabs of meat aren't so motionless. They bang against the clear walls of their prisons, leaving splatters of red on the glass.

I walk between the cells, eyes peeled for whatever might break through and try and eliminate me. There is no blood outside the cells on this floor. There are no bodies that aren't behind glass. Either that is good or it is bad. I'm in a pessimistic mood, so I decide it's bad. Of all the times Umbrella could move its lab out of the cellar it had to be the one time I went up instead of down.


	6. Chapter 6

Act VI: Magic

_ "The quarterback of the football team asked me to prom. He was drop-dead sexy. When he picked me up, I expected . . . magic. We'd never really spoken before, but I'd daydreamed about him before. He gave me a rose corsage and kissed my check. There was no sizzle like I'd imagined. He took me to the dance, played the role of a polite, disinterested gentleman. When he dropped me off, he was cool and distant. I eventually learned that his mother had picked me as his date because my mother had a position in society. So much for the magic moment."_

At the opposite end of the room was a door leading out. I headed toward that. But halfway to the door, there was a computer. It was high-tech, and looked like a sheet music stand. I paused in front of it. It was a touchscreen computer, and when I tapped the screen, it came to life. Several icons blinked for my attention. Video Feed won my attention.

I tapped it, and the screen blossomed into new options. There were images from the cells, two per screen. Under each was a name. I took a deep breath and started scrolling through them, doing my best to memorize the names and what had become of the people.

Somewhere near the middle, I saw his name. Jason Teague. My prom date who hadn't been the slightest bit interested. His cell showed a figure, roughly his size and shape, lying on a bed, facing the wall. Whether he was alive, dead, or undead, I really couldn't tell.

I checked the cell number and continued forward until I reached Cell #33.1. I tapped the glass with two fingers, eyes locked on the motionless figure. It didn't move. Or did it? I narrowed my eyes, leaning forward.

"I wasn't sure if he meant anything," a man said from somewhere behind me. "But when I found him here, it was too tempting to lure you in. I'm surprised that you came alone though. I guess Christopher didn't teach you better." He had a heavy, fake British accept.

I kept my eyes on the figure of Jason Teague, cursing myself for wasting my last shot on a mere zombie. But even as I watched, the figure sat up and started to turn. Its motions were clumsy and disjointed. Undead. I knew what I would see before he turned, hungry dead eyes to me. So I looked away.

Turned my back to him. "Congratulations, Wesker," I said. "You caught me."

"And now I'm going to kill you," he said. He launched toward me. The thing with Wesker is that he's pretty fast. He doesn't have lightning speed or anything like that, but he is faster than the average fastest man alive. Wesker uses his strength like a sophisticated bull in a China shop. He likes to break things, but he likes to break them slowly.


	7. Chapter 7

Act VII: Untouched

_"There have been others. John Grimm, who I never dated, never kissed, never held hands with. He was another one of Chris's friends. He was cute and kind. When he left for the Mars Research station with his parents, he'd promised to write me if he saw any Martians. He'd written me that there was no life on Mars. I heard his parents died in an explosion, but I never heard from him again."_

Wesker hit me before I knew I was being hit. The nice thing about that is my body didn't know it was in pain for several seconds, and by that time, I was airborne. I hit the computer counsel, and bounced off. I rolled to my feet, looking for Wesker. He came up behind me, seizing a fistful of my hair. He dragged me forward, slamming my face against the glass to Jason Teague's cell.

"Stupid, little girl," Wesker droned. I think he'd been mocking me for some time. Pinning me with one arm, he ripped the back of my jeans off using his super-strength.

"What are you doing?" I snarled. His only response was to strip me a bit faster. I knew what he was doing. The Jason Teague zombie placed a hand on the glass. I didn't want to, but I made eye contact. Just for a second.

His eyes were wild. The irises were dark, but full of life. He was shouting. _Stop, don't touch her. Leave her alone._ His cell was soundproof, but I could read his lips. He was alive. I didn't have time to wonder if he remembered me as his prom date, but I did anyway. I mean, what else was I going to do?

"Sorry, this is a pathetic rescue," I whispered.

Wesker was having difficulty getting himself free of his pants. I didn't bother struggling, and he snarled, whipping me around so I was facing him. "You haven't been listening to what I'm going to do to you, have you?"

I hadn't. I gave him my best, wide-eyed innocent look. He bitch-slapped me across the room. I crashed into the stupid computer, but this time I used it to stand up. And before Wesker was on me, I tapped the screen that unlocked all the cells. There was a hiss of steam as the glass sank slowly into the floor. The smell of decay and death wafted toward me like roadkill on a summer day. I resisted my gag reflex. Wesker hit me in the face, and I went down. He came down on top of me, one hand clamping like a vice around my throat.

His glasses were askew on his face, and his beady, glimmering red eyes glared furiously at me. "You think I like that smell?"

"I think you'll have company in a few minutes."

"Teague?" Wesker spat. "You think he can save you?"

"Save me?" I said, laughing. "I'm giving him a chance to save himself." I coughed, and Wesker moved his hand, mouth forming a question. I didn't wait for him to shut me up. Just screamed. "Jason, run!"


	8. Chapter 8

Act VIII: Want

"_Then there was . . . well, others, but I can't remember them clearly anymore. So many people move through my life, each one having some special spark that makes them different. I want love. I want life. I want it. For my brother and my missing father. Even my estranged mother. For my friends. For my lovers. For strangers. I want it for me too."_

Jason hit Wesker into one of the moving slabs of meat. Several mouths opened along it, each biting Wesker. It looked like a cannibal pillow. Jason scooped me up, rushing toward the door. He hit it, letting my legs go at the same time so I could stand and he could try and break the door down.

He kicked it once. Twice. It crumbled like a tin can.

"What did they do to you?"

Jason shot me an almost blank, quizzical look. "They? Nothing. It was the meteors. I was at the Kent Farm –" he shook his head. "Another time, alright? Let's get the hell out of here before Luther gets back."

"Luther?"

"Lex."

"Lex Luther?" I clarified. "The bald billionaire? What's he got to do with anything?"

"This is his secret lab facility to study meteor freaks," Jason said. "That's what he has to do with." He put his hands on the railing, looking up and then down. Apparently at the end of the hall was a second set of stairs – and this one went higher. "Up or down?"

"Up might have a helicopter."

He gave me such a look. "Can you fly one?"

"Yes. Most certainly."

He shrugged. And proceeded to drag my ass up another fifteen flights of stairs. The adrenaline kept me going. The precious taste of almost-free probably helped drive him. We reached the roof, caught the helicopter. I triggered the self-destruct for the building; (I guess Luther used the same evil laboratory designers that Umbrella did).

I flew us to a wooded clearing, and then put down. "They always track these things," I said. "I'm parked pretty close to here. If you feel up to driving, I feel up to giving you the keys."

Jason shook his head. "I know you, don't I?"

"Yeah," I said. "From a lifetime ago. Claire Redfield. I was your prom date senior year."


	9. Chapter 9

Act XI: Last time

_"It's the last time I think about. The last time I saw my father. The last time I saw Gerry. The last time I saw Lance. The last time I saw John, and Chris, and Leon. And Jason Teague. I'm thinking about our goodbye kiss the night of prom, and how I really wanted it to lead to more."_

Jason doesn't know what to say. When we reach my truck, he takes the wheel and drives us to a Motel 8 off Exit 241. He borrows some money and gets us a room. Inside, he takes a long-hot shower without saying anything to me. When he comes out in a towel, I notice that he looks good. Toned, muscular body. Not a scratch on him. I blame the meteors because I really don't want him to be the result of an Umbrella experiment.

"I was thinking . . ." he begins. "That maybe my mother sent you."

"Huh," I say. "I was thinking you look good, and that I'm glad you're alive." I stand up. I've been sitting on the floor, waiting for my turn in the bathroom. Pieces of my pants still cling to my body, but all the really private parts are open for his viewing pleasure. Not that he's viewing. His eyes are on my face, searching for something that I can't comprehend. I limp past him, and he touches my arm.

"Claire?"

I look at him with tired blue eyes. "Jason."

"What were the chances of us meeting like that? Something had to have arranged it. Someone."

I sigh. "You're right, you know. Someone did arrange it." I think of Wesker and wonder if the meat-pillowcases killed him for good for a change. But I doubt it. He'll be back to make my life hell some other day. At least now I know what he wants from me. A baby to torment Chris with.

Jason is still holding me. "Was it my mother?"

"No. It was the blonde guy. Albert Wesker. He used you as bait in a trap. He knew I'd go to rescue you."

"Why?"

I give Jason a sad look. "Because that's what I do. Just let me get clean so I can lick my wounds. Then we can talk. I'll explain everything." I smile, bitterly. "Maybe you'll even believe me."

Jason lets go of me. I turn the shower on and am instantly buffeted by lukewarm water. "Way to go, Teague. You used all the hot." I start peeling out of my destroyed outfit. Jason steps into the shower behind me.


	10. Chapter 10

Act X: _"Just once, I want someone to wrap me in his arms and say _**those**_ words. "_

Jason's voice is rough. "Sorry, Redfield." He turns me around gently, taking extra care with my injured arm. "I have Powers because of the meteors." He tilts my chin up. The water is striking my wounds relentlessly, making them sting, but I hardly notice. Jason moves slowly, deliberately. Déjà vu to the porch on prom night. His lips touch mine. I don't expect the sizzle.

The literal sizzle, that is. Electric heat sweeps through my body, making every molecule tingle. Jason pulls back. "Please don't freak out," he says. He backs out of the shower, letting the curtain fall into place. I hear him move back into the main part of the room.

Freak out? About him kissing and electrocuting me? Why would I freak out about that? I strip the rest of my clothes off and seize the soap bar. Jason already used it, and it is slightly pink from the blood he scrubbed from himself. I put the bar to work on my own body.

There's the blood on my arms first. I scrub my arms until they are red and sore. Then I move to the rest of me. Sometime after I turn off the water, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess, knotted and wet and washed with hotel shampoo. The rest of me is fine. No cuts, no bruises, no dislocated shoulder. Hell, there aren't even dark circles under my eyes.

I blink a couple of times. Then, grab a towel and wrap it around my body. Jason _healed_ me. That's the only thing that makes sense. He didn't want me to freak out about his special ability. I wondered what he was thinking right now. I'd showered for a good thirty minutes until the last drop of maybe hot water turned to ice water. And there had been no indication of me freaking out.

I stepped into the bedroom. Jason was sitting on the edge of the bed, resting his face on his hands. His eyes were wide and wild, and locked onto mine immediately. "Claire," his tone was cautious.

"Thanks," I said. "I suck at first aid." I pick the opposite bed, and lay down. "So, anything exciting happen in your life since I last saw you?"

He slowly lays down on his bed, lying on the side closet to me. Without looking, he says, "A bit. I guess. I fell in love."

"How'd that work for you?"

"Not so good."

"Same here," I said, thinking of Leon S. Kennedy and his devil's dance with Ada Wong. "I'm actually really happy to see you again." I turn to look at him. "I keep thinking about the last moments with the important people in my life and all the things I could have said or done in them."

"I'm an important person in your life?" Jason asks, turning to look at me.

"I don't know. We never were together long enough to find out."

He swallows. "Yeah, I guess we weren't."

I'm silent.

He breathes deeply. "We should . . . find out. If we are important to each other," he says finally. "It could be okay."

"Yeah," I say. "It could be great."

**Author's Note:** Well, that's the end. I know it was a strange, oddly paced piece. My goal was to have each "Act" take up a single page. I wanted to experiment with little "intros" at the start to build the character's history. I both like and dislike how it turned out. In some respects, the Acts were too short – maybe it would have worked better as one long story instead of the mini-stories. But in any event, thanks for sticking with it.

And please feel free to leave reviews with your comments on the story, the style, or the characterization. Thanks


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